Sad But Familiar Voices
October 30, 2011
In a previous post, I cited some examples of Christian life in the Middle East I found strange and hard to reconcile to my own experience. Two were to do especially with violence, one toward and one by Christians. At a certain point in my reading From the Holy Mountain, I was beginning to despair of ever really feeling at home with them, and thus (not that this is a bad thing) the book was relativizing my inherited beliefs. Luckily for my mental health, later in the memoir I race across a few stories that shot the narrative through with glorious light.
One such story is that of the Christian town of Kafr Bir’im near Nazareth. Dalrymple comes to the village of Safad and is welcomed by the married Marionite priest to have Turkish coffee while he tells him the story of what happened to Kafr Bir’im. Not long after everyone is getting situated, an old man comes in with a piece of paper with all sorts of dates and information relating to the story written on it, lest someone tell the story wrongly. (Enter sarcastic comment against the normal comparison of ‘modern history’ to ‘popular history’ here…)
On October 29th 1948, Haganah soldiers arrived in the village, who were received by the old men and priest with a white flag. The villagers gave them food and allowed them to occupy some houses for a little while. After 15 days, though, the villagers were told they must leave. They had to be five kilometers away from the village or they’ll be shot and killed. So it was in the cold of December they were forcefully evicted without shelter or aid from the village to live in caves or squat under trees, all without justification despite longstanding ‘friendly’ relations with Jews to this point. Several babies died from the exposure.
A twist in the story comes with the information that all 1,050 people of the town were given Israeli citizenship. When the Minister for Minorities arrived and saw them living under trees he ordered the Christians be given the homes of the nearby village Jish, which had been abandoned by fleeing Muslims. After 15 days, the minister said, they would be allowed back to their homes in Kafr Bir’im. There were even allowed a few men back into Bir’im to guard the houses and crops. But after six months, even these were ordered out of the village.
At this point, the village brought their concerns before the Israeli High Court.
The (Maronite!) priest here told Dalrymple:
“The people of Bir’im have never resorted to violence. We have always fought by law and by Christian principles.”
This story came as a surprise in this the last fifth of the book. It was as an oasis in a desert. I noticed immediately the casual matter-of-factness with which the Father indirectly said that ‘Christian principles’ would not allow his village to offer reaction with guns and violent retaliation. Sadly, the story continues all the way to an ironic post-apocalyptic end.
The people of Bir’im won the case. The court declared the evictions unjust and ordered them back to their village. Yet the very next day the Israeli army declared the area a military zone and they were once again forbidden from coming home. In the afternoon, by an aerial bombing, they destroyed Kafr Bir’im, the buildings with all their possessions, as the people watched from afar, as if at some bizarre fireworks show, on a hill subsequently named the ‘Crying Hill.’
Their fields were given to a new Jewish settlement and the town made into a National Park. The history of the town, and the fact that their real citizens were still alive and nearby, is erased from the public memory. Instead, signs draw attention to the ruins of a second temple synagogue near the center of town, yet the homes built by the people of Bir’im, are imagined as ancient ruins by the Israeli school children who come for field trips; a well dug by one who told the story was labeled instead as one built by a leader of the Jewish revolt circa 66AD.
Now, the villagers – at long last! – can visit their homes, but only if they pay the entrance fee and compete with tourists for a view. Fr. Suleiman laments:
“They say that once you let one Arab back, you admit that the others have rights too. That is why, despite everything, they dare not give us back what is ours. Israel says it is a democracy, and it is true. But it seems that for us Palestinians there is no justice.”
There are many more interesting details, and I strongly recommend you read this engrossing book for them and all the other stories.
Unfamiliar Voices
September 11, 2011
One of the books I read over the summer was a travel memoir by William Dalrymple, From the Holy Mountain. In it, Dalrymple follows the footsteps of a Byzantine monk, John Moschos and his pupil Sophronius the Sophist, who traveled through the Empire from Mt. Athos down to the Egyptian desert oasis Al Kharga. The book is a totally fascinating and engaging description of the very complex situation Christians are finding themselves in in the Middle East. Mostly it is a tale of the degeneration of Christianity in her historic home — an often tragic and brutal tale. Eerily, the book, written in 1997, already seems out of date. The situation is almost certainly more grim now.
The second part of From the Holy Mountain takes place in Turkey. After a brief respite in Syria, being at the time the most stable and safe home for Christians, Dalrymple moves onto Lebanon. The book to this point was unrelentingly strange to my world. Turkey, though officially a secular state, has systematically suppressed Christians there, including especially a physical and historic genocide of the Armenian Christians. By ‘historic’ I mean that the authorities literally travel around to towns and destroy any physical proof of Armenians: their churches, their homes, their graveyards, their monasteries. I found it very difficult to hear described. One thing I wasn’t expecting was for this memoir to challenge my pacifism. It doesn’t take any sacrifice on my part to say that I affirm a non-violent Kingdom here. Upon hearing these stories, perhaps for the first time in years, I became quite sympathetic to the felt need to defend oneself, one’s family, church, and home. Some monasteries that were taken over or destroyed had been there for well over a thousand years. A thousand. years.
In Lebanon, Dalrymple gives a brief history of the the Maronite eastern Rite Catholics. A shockingly bloodthirsty and cruel band of Maronite gangs had waged a long ‘civil war’ with other ethnic and religious groups in what is now Lebanon in an effort to defend what was seen as their own country — aided in no small part to a close relationship to the French. There is one particularly dark incident where Dalrymple is having a conversation with a certain Christian about the Maronite leader Samir Geagea. This man was comparing two towns, one Christian the other not:
“You can eat in Ehden, but make sure you sleep in Bsharre. Sleep in Ehden, and they will shoot you while you are asleep.’ [Bsharre was a town under the authority of Geagea. Dalrymple proceeds to question this man, listing many of the more gruesome crimes of Geagea, including the night murder of a Christian rival, the killing of women and children, a church bombing, and others.] “Geagea is a very honourable and very holy man,’ he said. ‘We are very proud of him in Bsharre…You must not believe what people say about Samir Geagea,’ said Ch’baat. ‘But you can hardly call him holy,’ [Dal.]
‘Certainly yes,’ he said, quite serious. ‘He went to mass every day and prayed by his bed every night. He had a church built wherever he was, where he fought. Every Christmas his troops expected money as a present, but instead he gave them prayer books and rosaries. Of course he went to confession ever week. He never went into battle without his cros. In his office, he always had a picture of the Virgin and a cross: never any picture of Che Guevara or anything like that.”
Another strange phenomenon was reported on multiple occasions. In some places in the Middle East there was a strange fusion of Christianity, Islam, and paganism that I found, to be perfectly honest, curious but repugnant. Apparently there are several churches, monasteries, and Mosques, where people of both faiths will come and pray to saints for healing, or for a job, to get pregnant, or for good weather. This is itself not too disconcerting, though it seems like it has potential problems. Far more troubling is that if the prayer is answered, that person will return with a goat or a sheep and the (Orthodox!) priest or Imam will sacrifice the animal in thanks to the saint! How strange! How utterly foreign to me, and foreign to the strong anti-sacrificial polemics of the Church fathers and New Testament.
I kept going over these sections in my mind. In the end, I found them impossible to understand. I couldn’t wrap my head around this man who praised Geagea, or this, well, gang leader, who could shoot a woman and child over 24 times one day, and go to Mass the next; or the animal sacrifice for saints. I was beginning to question myself strongly. In what ways has my Christian life been truly normative, and in what ways has it been exceptional? According to how I’ve been taught to understand the Gospels and the witness of the persecuted Church, even under severe pressure, the Church shouldn’t be reacting by taking up arms, but caring not about the risks, they should be testifying to another kingdom. Is that simply a position that one in my position can take? Or can it truly occur? Luckily for my sanity, I found several stories that filled me with joy and relief. Perhaps these Christians are not so strange after all?
Prayer and Fasting for Peace
June 4, 2010
Today, as I sat contemplating the possibility of (more) war in the Middle East, I realized something: I don’t pray nearly enough for peace. Sure the deacon recites this prayer every Sunday:
“Guide the people of this land, and of all nations, in the ways of justice and peace; that we may honor one another and serve the common good…Lord, in your mercy”
To which I heartily reply: “Hear our prayer.” But that is by and large the extent of my prayer life concerning peace. What’s more, I’ve never fasted for peace.
It occurred to me that there are thousands–maybe tens of thousands–of Christians out there who don’t believe that peace is possible or even beneficial, who believe that America’s wars are blessed by God, who believe that violence toward Muslims, gays and other perceived enemies is just fine, and who pray and fast on a regular basis. There are National Days of Prayer when God has to listen to (among better things) idolatrous, nationalistic prayers about how He needs to bless America and Israel and destroy China, Iran, and North Korea, and how the Holy Spirit needs to touch Obama’s heart and make him repeal the healthcare bill, and resign, and get ”born again.”
But, when do I (we) pray that God fulfills the prophesy given in Isaiah 2:1-5? When do I (we) pray that God changes the hearts of human-beings–myself included–who harbor violence and hatred in their hearts toward fellow human-beings?
I may be an E-whisk-i-palian, and I even voted for George W. Obama (in answer to the billboard: “How can I miss George W. Bush, when we have one of his clones running the country right now!”) but, I still believe that God intervenes in human history. Don’t get me wrong, I also believe that we are God’s hands and feet, living Icons of Christ and representatives of His coming Kingdom. Right action must accompany prayer, but it is all too often the prayer part that gets left out in my life.
So, I propose that those of us in our little blog community who a) believe in peace and non-violence, and b) believe that God answers prayer start to assign some action to our beliefs. Maybe I’m the only one of you guys who isn’t, in which case, I need your guidance.
Shall we set aside one day a week to fast and pray for peace?
Shall we plan a week of fasting and prayer this summer?
How do you guys pray and fast for peace? I hope some of my peacenik friends will chime in here…
*PICTURE NOTE: I was looking for a cheesy prayer picture. I think I did pretty well. Gotta love lightning emanating from folded hands, accompanied by a dove and and open Bible. All that’s missing is an American flag and a M-16.
The Myth of the Defenseless II
September 4, 2009
This ending is not the only ending that can be envisioned. Mendoza could have been “successful” at keeping the Portuguese at bay. The Portuguese could have been convicted and repented at the sight of the Cross and host. As a matter of fact there are several distinct topics that could be drawn out of this narrative. All truly great narratives can sustain multiple ‘true’ meanings.
For my purposes I will reside on the ‘surface of the text.’ There were the ‘defenseless’ natives and there were the Portuguese – and there were two distinct options that presented themselves.
1) Use violent means to secure the ‘safety’ of the Guarani and prevent a miscarriage in justice
2) Resist peacefully
In point of fact there are no defenseless people. When examined critically can one deny that a five year old could actually ‘defend’ herself? She could kick, she could bite, she could hit, she could throw things, she could even just scream. There are many different ways that a child could ‘defend’ herself. While it is true that said child would almost certainly be defeated in a violent situation she is not without the ability to defend himself. It is similar with men, women, the aged and the very young. We saw this in the way of Father Gabriel and the Guarani. The white robed martyrs took with them into “battle” the Cross and the Host. They obviously had faith more in these than in the ways of Mendoza.
Because, even if they are without the ‘ability’ to defend themselves, they are not without defense from other avenues. The Psalms are very clear about this. Many of the Psalmists will paint the picture that they are between a rock and a hard place. Enemies scheme are on their every side. They speak slander, they “set traps” and wait, they entice and abuse so that the Psalmist is even “brought down to the pit.” But the general response is that the Psalmist can put their trust in YHWH to rescue them and bring their enemies to judgement. This is hardly a minor theme in the Psalms. It is one of the most dominant ideas, that YHWH in his faithfulness will defend the Psalmist when no one else can or will.
It is my wish to draw out Leviathon with a hook. I do not believe that people who wish to “defend the defenseless” are interested at all in defense. They are interested in victory. They want to guarantee the temporal safety of the victims (not now thought of as “the defenseless”) against the unjust actions of potential enemies and abusers.
Now, I do not at all mean to impugne such motivations. I absolutely agree that the enemies are totally in the wrong. And our desire to not see victims fall prey is just as legitimate. Of course we should wish for justice in a situation! Of course! Make no mistake of my writing, I am not supposing that the innocent victims of violence should not be mourned and the violent resisted.
But ultimately I believe that if we were to choose to use violence to resist violence we fail to believe in the Resurrection.
Indeed, I think that one reason that many Evangelicals are often swift to defend the use of violence is because of a single-minded focus on the Crucifixion. I know I never once heard the Resurrection explained theologically as I grew up. And on the other side of the coin, when the Resurrection is interpreted to be a quaint spiritual experience of Jesus’ followers it is stripped of its power.
And so, the striving for victory over the oppressor by means of violence is nothing less than fearing the last enemy, Death. If Death has been overcome by the non-violent resistance to the Powers of the world then why should we need to resort to violence to prevent death? The chant we sung at Eastern Orthodox Easter was “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tomb restoring life!”
Stanely Hauerwas was once accused of making pacifism seem so simple and easy, he responded: “I never said that is would be easy. I just believe in a Church of believers who would rather die than kill.”
And so may we trust in a heavenly Father, who will so fill us with faith in the victory over death by the resurrection of his Son our Lord Jesus Christ that we may trust in it enough to live by it. Amen
The Myth of the Defenseless I
September 3, 2009
I had been dreaming this post up for a while but James’s recent post gave me that extra nudge I needed to start penning it.
One of the classic “What If” questions which arise out of discussions of pacifism is “What of the defense of the defenseless?” This seems to be one of those questions which come up both for theological liberals as well as conservatives. We should not forget that it is not only ‘conservatives’ who tend to baptize war efforts in Christian clothing. Traditional American Protestant Liberalism ala Reinhold Niebuhr also saw pragmatic moralism defend war as a means to peaceful ends.
The answer of the pacifist can seem cold. ”You mean you don’t believe in defending the defenseless?”
It is my contention that people who believe that to “defend the defenseless” with violence fail to look deep enough into this phrase. I am reminded of C. S. Lewis when he wrote “The Problem of Pain” and how he tried to come at the topic theologically and not emotionally. As a recent comment has shown, these types of situations can be sensitive and I don’t mean to be ignorant of the complexity behind a topic like this; nonetheless I feel compelled to examine the arguments and it will become clear why I come down where I do.
In perhaps truly Zizek’ish style I’m going to use a movie to provide the framework for the discussion.
The 1986 film “The Mission” is truly one of the best films I have ever seen. Without a doubt it is the best ‘religious’ movie I’ve seen. Based loosely on a true story, I think this can make the argument even more powerful. In it, a Spanish Jesuit, Father Gabriel (Jeremy Irons) takes a great risk by attempting to set up a Mission amongst a tribal group who had previously killed another missionary. He is lucky enough not to have suffered the same fate as his predecessor and his Mission is founded and flourishes.
He eventually receives a young man into the Jesuit order who had killed his brother and been a slave trader. Rodrigo Mendoza is healed of severe guilt and depression by the grace of the Jesuits, especially Father Gabriel, and becomes a vital part of the Mission.
Meanwhile, Spain cedes land to Portugal which includes the Mission. The Portuguese are well known for their slave trade and will not allow the Mission to continue. It is their plan to destroy the Mission and enslave the people there.
Word of this reaches the Mission and there are two options which begin to be pursued. Both Mendoza and Fr. Gabriel deeply love the Guarani people and are distraught. Fr. Gabriel decides that it goes against God’s Love to fight with violence. Mendoza cannot stand to see this injustice go on without resistance. Mendoza decides to rebel against Fr. Gabriel and begins to fashion weapons, set traps and train those men who are willing to fight.
I think it is of utmost importance to note that both Jesuits see the Guarani people as sitting ducks. They are, “defenseless” against the weapons and armies of the Portuguese.
The climactic scene of the movie is the attack on the Mission. As the armies advance, Mendoza and his force do all in their power to secure the safety of the Guarani but they are no match for the Portuguese and Mendoza is shot and his band scattered and killed.
As the army marches past Mendoza they are halted as Fr. Gabriel and those who followed him are singing. Even still they advance. As the Portuguese come upon the main square they are met by the Guarani and Fr. Gabriel, dressed all in white, holding the Cross and also the blessed Host. They begin to walk towards the Portuguese and are slaughtered one by one with a few escaping to the jungle.
Here is the clip:
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